


I've got more than whiskey in mind

by InkyElster (IdeenElster)



Series: One Year Gone (Things Change) [1]
Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blow Jobs, Canon Compliant, Drunk Sex, Hand Jobs, Infidelity, M/M, minor - Abigail Roberts/John Marston
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-21
Updated: 2018-11-21
Packaged: 2019-08-27 03:39:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16694710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IdeenElster/pseuds/InkyElster
Summary: Arthur was on his knees in front of him and John had no idea how that had happened.





	I've got more than whiskey in mind

**Author's Note:**

> This is supposed to be the first part of a oneshot series. Let's see how that goes. ^^ Endgame is Abigail/Arthur/John in later parts.

John's hands were shaking, badly. 

When Arthur glanced his way, he balled them into fists to make them stop, hiding the weakness. Of course no one would think less of him, probably. Everyone of them had been close to dying before. In the case of some of them even more than once. Arthur had almost-died a dozen times and never seemed fazed by it, unlike John. 

The robbery had gone pear-shaped pretty much immediately and this time he’d been the one too damn close to death. This could have been it. He would have been dead and never would have seen Abigail and little Jack again. Little Jack, who was only a year now or so, and may be his or may be not. Fortunately, he was still alive, once again thanks to Arthur ‘golden boy’ Morgan. 

After, they had headed back into their makeshift camp. Abigail had called him a fool before he’d even made a step away from his horse. At this point, her constant insults were as much an annoyance as they were a kind of comfort. It was a pretty fucked up comfort as far as comfort went. Heaven’s knew why he cared for her so much. John really was a fool. Still, he wished the trembling would finally stop.

Abigail went away and, again, he couldn’t stop her. That girl was a force of nature he just couldn’t tame. In her stead, Dutch came towards him and clasped a hand on his shoulder.

"Get into town for a drink, son. You earned it," Dutch told him and clapped him on the back before he waved Arthur closer. "Take the boy to the saloon, will you? He needs a stiff one."

John shook him off, scowling. He was no damn kid. “I’m fine, Dutch.”

As if he hadn’t heard him speak, or didn’t care, Arthur nodded to Dutch and grabbed John by the scruff of his neck. "Sure thing, Dutch. I’ll take care of him" 

And off they were without John having a chance to protest any further. It wouldn’t have done any good anyway. Arthur did whatever Dutch told him and Dutch only did what he thought was right and in their opinion John needed a drink. He just hoped Arthur was buying, because the reason John hadn’t already been in the town’s saloon was that he didn’t have any money to speak of. Another reason for Abigail to call him pathetic. He just couldn’t do anything right in anyone’s eyes, least of all hers and Arthur’s. 

At least on the horse his shakes were hidden by the movements of Old Boy. For god's sake, he'd been to robberies before. He’d always been helping out in one way or another ever since he joined Dutch and a lot of time had passed since then. He was no kid no more. Well, he hadn’t much felt like a child for years neither, but a guard had been able to put him on his back and point a gun at his face, ready to put a bullet between his eyes and if it hadn't been for Arthur, John would have been dead and no mistake about it.

Arthur turned in his saddle and looked back at him, expression hidden by the shadow the rim of his hat cast over his face. "You alright, kid?"

John's mouth thinned, but he swallowed down the angry retort. He was twenty-two now, far away from being a _kid_ despite Arthur having to save him yet again. "I'm fine, Arthur. Just a bit shaken up," he answered, voice as calm as he could make it.

A shake of Arthur’s head and John suddenly felt like the kid he insisted he wasn’t, trudging after his elder. "You know that's normal, right? Everyone of us has been there," Arthur said. From his mouth it almost sounded friendly for once. 

"Yeah, yeah." John frowned, glad that he was riding behind Arthur and the other man couldn’t see his face.

And he did know, but that didn't stop it from bothering him. Dutch and Hosea had saved him all those years ago, and Arthur had, too. John just wished he could be the one doing the saving for once, prove himself, especially to Arthur. Arthur, who had most of Dutch's attention and Arthur who had all his attention on Dutch and on Hosea with everyone else falling by the sidelines. John scowled and urged his horse to go faster. _Of course_ Arthur kept pace. John could never outrun him.

The town was a small one. It hardly deserved the name. One dusty main road with houses lined up on either side. A saloon, a store and a smith, the usual that was part of every place where people gathered. They had no use for the stores, so they entered the saloon with their usual swagger. Eyes lingered on them as they headed to the bar and ordered their drinks. Arthur for his part didn't say anything and John was equal parts annoyed and relieved for _that_ small piece of mercy. Right now, he didn't want any of Arthur's wise-ass remarks.

By his fifth drink, John had become more drunk and _angry_. Whiskey had that effect on him, but at least he wasn’t shaking no more. Someone took that moment to jostle him and Arthur caught John’s arm before he could land a punch. 

Arthur aimed a friendly smile at the guy. "Sorry fella, he's just a little shaken up," Arthur said, words slurring a little bit. Until now, no one had bothered them, either they hadn’t dared or they just wanted their own peace and quiet, thought who the hell went into a saloon for peace and quiet was anyone’s guess. If there wasn’t a fight, it wasn’t a party as far as John was concerned and right now he really needed one. Arthur should have just let him punch the fella’s lights out. 

The stranger for his part, looked at them with barely concealed disgust, out of place for someone who was visiting a dingy little place just like them. "Well, keep your little cock sucker in place, you hear me?" He scoffed and took the drink the suddenly alarmed looking barkeep handed him.

John's mouth opened, his brows furrowed as he stared at him. "What the fuck did you just call me?" But Arthur's punch had already landed the guy on his ass, nose bloody, and with a whoop John joined the resulting fray.

After, when most of the other patrons were either unconscious or gone, they each grabbed a bottle and left the cursing barkeep to the mess, mounting their horses. 

“Careful there,” Arthur said and laughed, honest to god _laughed_ and John just had to join in. Seeing Arthur laugh was contagious even if he'd only started laughing cause John had almost slid off the other side of his horse after getting on it.

John let Old Boy rear and leap forward onto the street. "Come on, Arthur, let's ride!" He urged his horse into a gallop and Arthur followed him. The wind felt amazing on his overheated face, the moon big and round in the sky and giving visibility for miles. This might have been the perfect night, if not for the fact his horse bucked, startled by a mouse or _something_ and John hit the ground with a sudden _oomph_.

Arthur stopped so close beside him the hooves of his horse almost stepped on him. "You alright, John?" There was still that laughter in Arthur's voice, beautiful beautiful laughter and John let himself be helped onto his feet, stumbling into the side of the horse before he took a step back and felt Old Boy apologetically nip at his hair.

"Never felt better," John assured him with a wide grin. 

Arthur dismounted and clapped a hand on his back, steering him away from the road. Their horses dutifully followed behind them. "Let's get a camp going. It’s time to get you to bed."

“What about the others?” John asked and steadied himself on Arthur’s back when he stumbled over a root. Goddamn roots, always hiding in the dark.

“They’ll be fine without us. Just don’t want you injuring yourself on the way back.” Arthur grinned at him. John ducked his head as they walked deeper into the forest. There was less of a danger of being seen and robbed from the road. Besides, there was a beautiful lake nearby that they’d seen while scouting the area. Again John tripped, pulling Arthur accidentally with him as Arthur tried to keep him from running head first into the trunk of a next tree. In the dark it just meant Arthur tripped, too, and suddenly John found himself with his back to a tree with Arthur all pressed against his front.

John's breath caught in his throat. For as long as John had been with Hosea and Dutch, Arthur had teased him and John… he’d always been feeling a little too much when it came to him. Their faces were so close and John, head hazy with alcohol, didn't really think before he leaned forward and kissed Arthur. Unfortunately, the blissful non-thinking part only lasted for about a split-second before the panic set in. John moved to pull back, but Arthur’s hand at the back of his neck held him in place and Arthur started kissing him back with vigor, claiming his mouth in a way it had never been before. His own hands found themself carding through Arthur's hair. Arthur's hands grasped him around the waist and pressed him harder against the bark. It was more than nice, Arthur’s beard rubbed against his cheek when he dragged his teeth along John’s jaw.

Then one of Arthur's palms rubbed none-too-gently against the front of John's breeches and John bucked into the touch, gasping against Arthur's cheek. It all went so fast and not fast enough. Time was racing past and suddenly Arthur was kneeling in front of him, looking up at John.

"What- What are you doing?" John mumbled. His fingers grasped at the bark behind him, anchoring himself, because his legs were shaking from something other than lingering fear now. Seeing Arthur on his knees before him… he couldn’t wrap his head around it, but he _wanted_. This picture alone was enough to have his cock tent his breeches.

Arthur’s hands trailed across the bulge, a lazy grin on his face. "Abigail never done this to you before?" He cupped John’s hard cock through the fabric and John was struck speechless, could only shake his head, stunned. Some paid lady had gone down on him once, but never Abigail, and John would have never thought that Arthur would do it for him. Never Arthur. The back of his head met the trunk behind him as Arthur pulled him out into the chill of the night air and then John was moaning helplessly as the heat of Arthur's mouth wrapped around his shaft without any teasing at all. 

John's hips rocked forward on their own accord only to be pressed back by Arthur and immobilized. His hands curled in Arthur's hair but even they couldn't control Arthur's pace as he moved torturously slow up and down John's cock. John cursed and writhed against the tree. He wanted so many things, but he could only hold onto Arthur’s hair and gasp, watching his own cock disappear between Arthur’s lips. Arthur’s eyes were closed and then they weren’t. The look he shot John made something hot shiver down his back, made his grip tighten and his hips buck hard enough to make Arthur choke momentarily. 

A strangled groan escaped John as Arthur’s throat fluttered around the head of his cock. 

"Arthur! I'm-"

In his defense he was trying to warn Arthur, but then he was already spilling into his mouth and Arthur pulled off to spit his spent onto the ground and wipe a hand over his mouth. Then he was pressed up against John again, letting him taste himself on Arthur's tongue.  
Not one to be outdone when he could help it, John fumbled with the front of Arthur's breeches, pulled him out and wrapped a hand around his cock. It was different, touching another man's cock instead of his own, but also good to feel the silkiness and hear the way Arthur moaned against his temple. God, the _noises_ Arthur made. John wanted to hear more of them, all the pitches he could tease out of him.

Arthur claimed his mouth again as John worked his hand hard across Arthur's cock, tried out which touch could get him to moan out loud again, instead of stifling his noises against John's lips. He let his thumb rub over the head of Arthur’s cock and was rewarded with a throaty groan and a buck of his hips against John. 

“Arthur,” John murmured, felt Arthur’s lips drag over his cheek and nip at John’s lower lip. 

“Just shut up, John,” Arthur whispered and then John couldn’t say anything, because he had Arthur’s tongue lick into his mouth, making him shudder and his cock twitch. Then Arthur let him go, steadied himself with his palm on either side of John’s head as he rocked forward into John’s hand. “Touch me harder, boy.”

With a scowl, John squeezed his fingers around Arthur’s length and palmed his balls with the other, fabric pulling tight over the back of his hand. “Like that, yeah,” Arthur groaned, forehead dropping onto John’s shoulder. “Marston.”

“Yeah, come on, Arthur,” John goaded him on and with a last guttural groan Arthur spilled over his fingers. For lack of a better option John wiped his hand off on his pants and claimed Arthur’s mouth while it was slack under his, not letting him come up for air.

Then, finally they pulled apart, slowly, eyes hooded in the dark. "Let's make camp," Arthur said, smile gone. In front of him stood the gold boy again, Dutch’s protege and best soldier.

A kind of numbness, a quiet sort of panic slowly set in and John nodded, followed Arthur without a sound. Fortunately, the exhaustion of the day caught up with him and he was asleep before his head had even touched his bedroll, before he could make a fool out of himself and ask what it had all meant to Arthur. 

He’d had the feeling it wouldn’t have done him any good anyway. The moment had gone and Arthur proved him right by roughly poking him awake the next morning, face closed off and stormy and John could do nothing but wash up as he was told and mount his horse. The worst wasn't that he and Arthur had touched each other, people in camp were easy when it came to that, with a few exceptions, but John had a kid, he had a woman, no matter if both may not be his at all. Jack was a year, he had a child and... and he wanted to kiss Arthur again. Abigail wasn't the sharing kind. Hell, _John_ wasn't the sharing kind either.

And Arthur wasn’t even looking at him anymore.

They rode back to camp in silence and John kept his face as neutral as he knew how as Abigail wrapped her arms around him, her lips softer than Arthur's, all right and all wrong at the same time. There was a storm brewing inside of him and that night he found himself packing his things and riding off, not to be seen for a long long while.


End file.
